Adoption Part 1

I wrote this post a little while ago. I have debated about posting it because it is so personal, so I may change my mind and take it down. It is long so I have broken it up into two pieces.

It’s been five years (today!) since we adopted Daughter. People tell me sometimes how generous and wonderful we were, but in reality we were selfish. We wanted a little bundle to hold, and teach, and love and watch grow up. We wanted Oldest to have a brother or a sister, and we wanted them close in age so that they could be good friends.

I think about Daughter’s birth-mother a lot. There are days that I can’t get her out of my mind. The judge in our adoption gave a wonderful tribute to birth-mothers. He said, "" I find myself wondering how she is doing, what she is doing, how is she feeling.


I try to imagine the day that she gave birth. She had given birth before so she knew what to expect, I think. But she was alone. No one knew that she was pregnant. It breaks my heart to think about how that must have felt. And then to leave the hospital with out a baby. I can’t imagine the pain that she must have felt.

It would be a month before Daughter would come into our lives, but she was well taken care of. She was placed in foster care with a wonderful family with teenage children. The family had experience with adoption as their children were adopted. They take in infants when needed now. I had the chance to talk with this foster-mother and she told me how beautiful Daughter is - like a "porcelain doll"; and how good she was at church, and how she loved to be held, especially when she slept.


I imagine that it was hard for Daughter’s birth-mother to make the choices that she did. She had to decide to move on with her life. She came to the agency when we went to pick Daughter up. We met her. We hugged her and she said goodbye to our baby. She cried. I didn’t take any pictures because I didn’t think that it was appropriate. I didn’t think that it was the right time... What I wouldn’t give to go back in time, and take some pictures.

We agreed to send letters and photos several times during the first year, and yearly after that. She chose not to pick them up from the agency. I’m sure that this, for her, was easier. I imagine it being difficult to look at pictures of a child that grew in you being raised by someone else. I have grieved for this. The hardest thing about this is that we changed Daughter’s name, and now her birth-mother doesn’t know her name. She doesn't know that Daughter is an energetic, friendly, excited-about-life, enthusiastic girl who eats good, sleeps good, and shares with her brothers, friends and parents.